


Mr and Mrs Blake

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Assassins AU, F/M, Fun Friday, Light Bondage, Mr and Mrs Smith AU, spouses to enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Written for 100 fics for BLM. Mr and Mrs Smith AU.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Mr and Mrs Blake

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Fun AU Friday! This is a Mr and Mrs Smith AU written for 100 fics for BLM. I've adapted the plot a little to suit Bellarke's characteristics - I hope this is what you were wishing for, prompter! Huge thanks to Zou for betaing it. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note for guns, violence and injury. I haven't made it gratuitously graphic, but it's as you might expect from the source material.

**Support great causes and also prompt fun fics at<https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/>**

Bellamy loves Clarke. He really does. He knows he’s not supposed to, not really - or at least, that his love for her shouldn’t be a priority. Marrying her was only ever supposed to be a cover.

But it’s not in his nature to give up on someone he cares about. He’s probably too warm-hearted for wet work, he sometimes finds himself thinking - mostly while he has a gun pressed to some mark’s temple.

The thing is, Clarke is not easy to love. She never has been. She’s sharp, evasive, difficult to get close to. He’s been putting up with that for years, and he thought it would be OK. They make each other smile, and he always thought she really cared about him beneath her hard shell.

But he’s getting seriously worried, now. The big concern? They have sex twice a month at best, these days. And even then he gets the sense she’s not really  _ with _ him. They don’t do anything she seems to find exciting like they used to. He’s not just worried about that because he’s thinking with his dick - although, for the record, he does have a healthy sex drive, thank you very much. But because, if he’s honest, he thinks his body is probably the most lovable thing he’s bringing to this relationship. Clarke has never seen the best of him - the bravery, the loyalty, the way he thinks on his feet. That’s because he can’t show her that without showing her the  _ worst _ of him, too. So he always believed his looks and sex appeal were about the most useful thing he could contribute to their marriage.

If she doesn’t want him like that any more, why would she still want him  _ at all _ ?

That’s why he suggests marriage counselling. He’s not ready to give Clarke up without a fight. She’s the best thing this horrific career has ever brought him, and he’s determined to at least  _ try _ to save their relationship.

“Marriage counselling?” She repeats back at him, incredulous, mouth twisted into a frown.

He nods, tense, nervous. More nervous than he has ever been with a sniper trained on his chest.

“You think our marriage is broken?” She asks, and just for a moment he allows himself to believe she might sound a little sad about the idea.

“I think maybe - maybe it’s  _ breaking _ .” He suggests tentatively. “Maybe we need to get some help and talk a few things over before it’s too late.”

To his surprise, she agrees. A firm nod. A brisk instruction to him to find a counsellor and tell her when she needs to show up.

Maybe it’ll be OK, he allows himself to dream. Maybe there are three simple communication tricks the counsellor can tell them, two magic rules for better sex.

Maybe he’s allowed one good thing in this wretched life he has backed himself into. Maybe he’s allowed to be happy with his wonderful wife.

…….

Clarke loves Bellamy. Or at least, she  _ thinks _ she does. She’s honestly not sure she still has it inside of her to love anyone, after everything she’s done.

But if she did love anyone, it would be him. No doubt about it. Bellamy who chose to marry her for  _ her _ \- for who she is outside of her work, for the way she makes him smile, for the awesome sex life they used to have. She’s really hurt that he thinks they’re floundering - hurt because it means she is failing in her mission to preserve the cover of their marriage, but even more hurt that maybe the one person who has ever seen anything good in her might not be able to see that any more.

She doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

No, she’s being silly. He’s just a cover story. A cover story she has grown fond of, sure, but a cover story nonetheless. An assassin who has killed hundreds can not be worrying about the threat of a sweet, harmless children’s publisher leaving her. Her mind ought to be on her next job.

She shows up at the marriage counsellor at the time Bellamy gave her for their appointment. He’s not there. He’s late. She’s walking into the appointment alone when he runs through the door, apologetic, muttering about some delay at work.

She frowns, but she doesn’t say anything. A sharp rebuke is not a good start to a marriage counselling appointment, she supposes. But she finds that she is more hurt than ever - he couldn’t even get here on time? Maybe he doesn’t care so much about saving their marriage after all.

They take their seats. The counsellor begins the session with a seemingly innocent question.

“How did you two meet?”

It’s Bellamy who answers, jumping straight in before Clarke can choose some careful words. He’s telling the counsellor a tale of exploring Columbia, learning all about the history, stumbling across a beautiful, sharp-humoured woman in the bar and knowing at once that she was someone special.

Clarke wants to cry - assassin or not, she’s only human. Of course he remembers it like that.  _ Of course _ he would tell the story of their first meeting like it was some kind of fairytale, the knight meeting his Princess. That’s Bellamy in a nutshell, isn’t it? Warm-hearted, beautiful Bellamy, with his easy smile and his caring nature and his children’s books.

She knows different. She was there for a job. Along the way she engineered an opportunity to run into him and sweep him off his feet.

It makes her feel like the worst person in the world - even though lying is quite literally part of her day job.

…….

Bellamy’s not sure how the counselling session went, in all honesty. Clarke was withdrawn, but no more so than he expected her to be. Talking about the state of her heart is not something that comes naturally to her. The counsellor gave them some questions to think about this week, both separately and together.

It has to be better than nothing, right?

He tries to push it out of mind while he sets out for a job. It’s his least favourite kind tonight - sex work and wet work, tangled together. But this guy he is supposed to be taking out has a daddy kink, so Bellamy knows this is the easiest way to get the job done.

Clarke’s going out too. She often does go out in the evenings. And she’s out all day, too, at her job as an art auctioneer. She goes on a lot of weekends away for work, as well, jetting all around the world to wherever the paintings are. He doesn’t understand what she really does, honestly. The art trade is a mystery to him - almost as much as his wife is.

Maybe that’s one of their problems, he muses. They just don’t spend as much time together as some couples, what with their hectic work schedules. And he can’t talk to her about her job, ask whether she’s stressed at work, because he doesn’t truly know what she gets up to all day.

He ought to fix that.

Just as soon as he has a morning free, he’s going to go read up on the world of art trading.

…….

Clarke tries not to dwell on the counselling session, as she gets back on with her day job - her day job, which sometimes takes place at night.

She tries not to dwell on it, and doesn’t entirely succeed.

Anyway, this mission ought to be pretty routine. Broad daylight, one target, and a desert location with plenty of cover. What can possibly go wrong?

What can go wrong is another idiot can get there first, it turns out. Someone else blows the whole site sky high. It’s utter stupidity, Clarke cannot help but feel. Just  _ blowing stuff up _ is not how a competent operative works. This must be one of that fool Kane’s team, she thinks scornfully. She’s walked into them on the job before now - far less careful than the colleagues she works with for Jaha.

Seriously, who tries to assassinate a lone target with  _ explosives _ ? It’s all a lot of mess for very little gain, in her book. Occasions like this are all about precision and accuracy.

A case in point - the target gets away, this morning.

Never mind. Nothing to be done about it now. She calls Jaha and asks for further instructions.

“Get the guy who got in your way. Whatever it takes.”

Good. Perfect. She’s seriously pissed with whoever ruined her morning, so it seems that her orders and her inclinations have lined up for a change.

…….

Bellamy is feeling a little sheepish, when he gets home that night. He doesn’t like screwing up, because he doesn’t like to feel like he’s letting people down, or like he’s a failure. And his self-esteem is feeling fragile to say the least at the moment anyway, what with the state of his relationship with Clarke. What if this makes it worse, somehow? What if she can  _ smell _ the failure on him?

She can’t - or if she can, she’s past caring. She tells him she’s tired and wants to head to bed early, in a detached sort of a tone.

So that’s another night without sex, then.

No, he probably shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

He focuses on getting a decent night’s sleep himself, heads into the office bright and early the next morning. Kane wants to speak to him - something about yesterday - and he’s determined to be prompt and professional. He needs to show his boss that he was right to take a chance on him, that he is capable of fixing his mistake. He supposes his new mission will be to locate and ultimately take out the guy who escaped him yesterday.

“Mr Kane, sir. What can I do for you?”

Kane frowns deeply. “I’ve got a new mission for you, after yesterday. We need you to take out the other agent who was on the scene and interfered with the mission before you can hunt down our guy.”

“Very good, sir. Do we have intel on the other agent?”

Kane nods, still frowning. He actually bites his lip as he hands over a file.

Bellamy finds this all rather strange. Why does Kane look almost  _ nervous _ ? That’s not his style, usually. Bellamy is frowning himself as he opens the file and looks down at the face of this rival agent.

That’s his wife.

It’s Clarke. It’s definitely her. He can recognise his wife in a photo, thank you very much. What the hell is going on here? She can’t be an assassin. Not  _ Clarke _ . Prickly but protective Clarke. The proper, well-put-together art auctioneer. She can’t be.

She  _ can _ . She is. As the first shock passes, he finds that it all makes a horrifying kind of sense. He wants to vomit, or perhaps weep. Of course Clarke is in this trade. That explains all the mysterious trips, the evenings out, the distance in their marriage. It explains why she never says a fucking word about  _ art _ .

So much for marriage counselling. It’s going to take more than that to get them out of this.

He feels utterly betrayed. He knows that’s stupid, because she couldn’t have told him. She must have no idea he is in this business, either. But he thought there was a time at the beginning when they told each other  _ everything _ , even if things have changed in recent years.

Most of all? Most of all he’s  _ devastated _ . He’s been ordered to kill his wife. The woman he’s desperately trying to fix his marriage with. The woman he  _ loves _ .

He can’t do it. It’s as simple as that - a conclusion he has reached almost before he has left Kane’s office.

…….

Clarke doesn’t know how she’s going to do it.

She found out first thing this morning that Bellamy is her new target. Now it’s evening and that’s still the thought foremost in her mind.

It should be easy. He’s just cover, right? She doesn’t love him, does she? She doesn’t love anyone. She’s just a brain on the good end of the barrel of a gun.  _ Love _ has nothing to do with it.

But - he’s  _ Bellamy _ . The first person who ever saw anything truly good in her.

Oh god. That’s a lie, too, isn’t it? She must be cover for him, just as he is cover for her. She can’t believe it took her so long to reach that conclusion - in her defence, she’s had a rather stressful day. A few other things on her mind.

That settles it. If he doesn’t really care about her, then she can  _ definitely _ kill him.

But she still doesn’t know how the hell she’s going to do it. She’s not going to be able to do it looking into his familiar face, is she? Gazing right into his eyes and wondering if all the love she ever thought she saw there was a lie?

She makes a snap decision, when his car pulls up in the drive. She runs. That’s what she’s always done, when the going gets tough. When the emotion or pressure or fear of a situation gets too much for her. That’s why she chose this line of work, ultimately - because it gives her an excuse for running from the truth.

She fires a handful of shots in the general direction of his car as she goes. Not aimed to kill - in fact, specifically aimed not to even  _ hurt _ . Just covering fire to deter him from opening the doors or coming after her. Just enough to get her out of there in one piece so she can figure out what the hell she’s going to do.

She’s going to kill him. Obviously she is. He’s nothing special to her - just a job like any other.

But she really needs to come up with a plan to do it in a  _ detached _ kind of a way.

…….

Bellamy is devastated when Clarke runs off, shooting at him.

He’d been holding out hope that she wouldn’t want to go through with it. He realises that, now. He’d been desperate to pretend that their marriage would fix everything, broken though it is.

So much for that.

He’s more than devastated, though. He’s furious, too. If that’s how she wants to play it, he can play her game. If she wants to throw their relationship clean out the window for the sake of a job, he will rise to it.

He might as well. He has nothing to lose, if he no longer has Clarke.

He spends the night making a plan. He considers his options, gathers intelligence. By which he means he calls his friend Miller and rants about the injustices of marriage for a good three hours.

He’s never been so hurt in his life.

The following morning he knows what he has to do. He knows that Clarke works for Jaha - that was all in the file Kane gave him. So he simply puts on his good boots, arms himself thoroughly, and sets out for his wife’s office. She’s got to arrive there sooner or later, he figures - in fact, he suspects she might already be there, seeing as she disappeared from here last night.

It’s not a subtle approach, of course - walking straight into the rival headquarters to take out one of their agents. It’s not necessarily likely to be  _ successful _ . But in this moment, he honestly doesn’t care. He cannot find it within himself to care about much, really, since his wife took those shots at him.

Anyway, it might work. He’s infiltrated a target’s headquarters more than once before now.  _ The inside man _ , Kane sometimes calls him when he’s feeling complimentary.

And if it doesn’t work, Clarke lives. If he dies, she lives. He’s so confused right now he thinks that might even be a preferable outcome, if he gets taken out by security on his way to gun her down.

That’s what he’s expecting. He’s expecting some anonymous man in a clean-cut suit to put a bullet in his brain before he even gets anywhere near Clarke, if he’s being truly honest.

He’s sure as hell not expecting it to be the elevator.

It seems to be an elevator like any other. He enters it, keys in the number for her floor. He stands there, whistling slightly to himself, trying very hard not to think about what he’s about to try and do.

And then, all at once, Clarke’s voice is echoing around him.

“I don’t think the marriage counselling worked so well, honey.”

He gulps. Is that supposed to be a  _ joke _ ? Is she teasing while their lives are on the line? And he could swear bad jokes always used to be his territory, anyway.

“Clarke. It doesn’t have to be like this. We can talk about it. We can -”

“It does have to be like this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And then the elevator is falling. He’s careering to the floor, fast and straight and true. 

Clarke did this. What a coward - to kill him like this, with a staged accident, rather than having the integrity to do it to his face. He’s ashamed of her, honestly. He didn’t think of her as a coward.

But over and above all that, he’s angry. Hurt. Upset. She never did love him as much as he loved her, did she? Here’s the final proof of it.

He wonders if it will hurt, when the elevator hits the floor. Or will it be over so quickly he won’t feel a thing?

He’s half a heartbeat away from finding out.

…….

Clarke realises she really does love Bellamy, still, at the worst possible moment.

It’s not when the elevator hits the floor. No, it’s even worse than that - just a few seconds before that, when she cuts him loose and sets him falling. So she has those few heartbeats that feel like lifetimes to regret her decision. To wonder what his last thoughts might be. To wonder whether he dies hating her.

She’s such a fool. Such a heartless, murderous fool.

She wonders if it would have made any difference. He didn’t really love her - she must remember that. She was just a cover to him. But all the same, she cannot help but wonder if there was another way out they could have taken, besides death and destruction. What if she had invited him to run away with her? To flee across the world? Could he have tolerated her well enough to make that work, if it would have saved his life?

It doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.

She picks herself up and picks her bag up, too. She ought to go home. Home to the home she used to share with Bellamy.

Home. Isn’t that supposed to be a warm and loving place?

She takes the stairs. She can’t bear to take the other elevator. She gets herself back to the house in one piece, more or less, leaving only a few tears behind along the way. She opens the front door, walks calmly down the hall. What should she do now? Should she stay here? Try to build a life without Bellamy?

Or should she pack up and run for it? For real this time, fleeing far away?

Yes. That’s much more her style.

She heads to the bedroom, thinking she might change her clothes quickly first. She opens the wardrobe, takes -

A bullet thuds into the door inches from her ear.

She spins around, stunned. Where’s that coming from? What’s going on?

It’s Bellamy. Either that or it’s his avenging spirit, come to haunt her for what she did to him. He’s ducked back into cover behind the bedroom doorframe, almost out of her reach.

How did he sneak up on her like that? He’s better at this than she’s been giving him credit for, after that mess in the desert.

She has no handy cover. She’s going to have to make a run for it, into the bathroom. At this kind of range he might well get a fatal hit while she’s moving.

But there’s nothing else for it. She goes, diving through the door, shooting in his general direction as she moves. But this time, more than even with the car last night, she is not shooting to kill. She’s not about to hurt him, not after that revelation she reached while the lift was falling.

Should she just give herself up? Just beg him to end it? Or is there some other way out if she keeps him talking?

“Bellamy?”

“Thanks for giving me the shaft.” He calls out, a strained joke for a strained situation.

She snorts. She’s always found his silly humour funnier than she probably should.

“I want a divorce.” He says now.

She swallows. That’s not supposed to hurt. It’s not. This is about more than some stupid marriage.

But it does hurt all the same.

“You think this story has a happy ending?” She asks, trying for her usual boisterous tone - and failing miserably.

“Happy endings are for stories that haven’t finished yet.” He says. But this time, she thinks he sounds more tired than confident.

More sad than threatening, perhaps.

No. He shatters that illusion with a shot that thuds into the wall right next to her and shakes it badly. Then suddenly he’s shooting at the door, then kicking it, then pounding away at it while she crouches, pathetic, next to the sink and waits for the end to come.

She’s never been so scared in her life. She never thought it would be  _ Bellamy _ cornering her like this. He’s not supposed to. He’s supposed to be  _ safe _ . This house was supposed to be her safe haven.

He breaks the door down. She lunges for him, but too late. He’s already got a pistol pointed right at her chest.

Slowly, grudgingly, she raises her own weapon. She doesn’t plan to kill him, but she can’t let him see that. She has to sell the bluff, if she is to negotiate with him from a position of strength. If she is to find some other way out of this situation.

They stand there, silent, watching each other. Seconds tick by. Clarke doesn’t understand why he hasn’t ended it yet, why they are still drawing out the moment.

Unless he’s feeling as conflicted as she is.

She tests her theory. Shaky, weeping silently, she lowers her hand.

“You want it, it’s yours.” She tells him bluntly. “I can’t do it. I can’t kill another person I love.” She did too much of that as a young agent, getting her friends and colleagues and even her family killed.

His eyes go wide, jaw dropping open. And then, all at once, his gun is clattering to the tiled floor and he is crossing the distance between them. He’s pulling her into his arms, pressing a heated kiss to her lips, holding her so tight she’s not sure he’ll ever let go.

…….

Bellamy can’t believe it.

He was so sure she was going to do it. She did drop that elevator earlier, after all. So he’s blown away by hearing her talk like that, as if she still loves him. It’s incredible. He’s stunned to see her lower her weapon and bow out.

No - it’s not quite that he  _ can’t _ believe it. He does believe it. She may have deceived him in one key regard for their entire married life. But he knows her well enough to be convinced that she’s genuinely struggling with her emotions, here. That she’s being serious when she says she can’t do it.

That’s why he initiates the kiss. Because, despite everything, he is certain this is real. Their love for each other - the only thing in their marriage that has not been a lie. He doesn’t know where they go from here, whether there is a way out of this sticky situation. But he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try to show Clarke how he feels about her.

Huh. He seems to remember he was furious with her, just a few short minutes ago.

Things change quickly, in his line of work. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, as he relaxes into the kiss and tastes Clarke’s lips beneath his own. It’s been too long since they did this. Since they simply stood, tangled together, to make out for minutes on end.

It may have been him who started the kiss, but it’s Clarke who starts clawing at his waistband as if she can’t wait to get him naked.

“Good job the bed’s right there, huh?” He asks her, teasing.

She laughs damply, tugs harder at his clothes.

He pushes her hands away and picks her up instead. Maybe that’s a silly, sentimental thing to do right now. But he wants to carry her to bed and make a fuss of her. He wants to remind her they’re better together than apart. Yes, sure, he’s always been insecure that she’s only with him for the sex. But right now, only being with him for the sex sound a lot better than not being with him at all.

He starts off slow - to put off the moment when they must discuss the future, as much as to cherish the present moment. He pulls her trousers and underwear gently down her legs, kisses along her bare skin as he inches her clothes out of the way. Then he gets his mouth on her, tastes the sharpness of arousal already.

Huh. She really is into the sex after all.

He takes his time, coaxing her to orgasm. They might not have slept together so much recently, but he still remembers what she likes. A little pressure, just here. Moving faster when she starts gasping for breath. A hand stretched up to ghost teasingly over her breasts - just enough to get her excited and promise more good things to come.

She gets there sooner than he had planned. She must be awfully wound up. Then he takes her shirt and bra off, kissing her all the while, shrugs his own clothes out of the way too. He’s hovering over her, about ready to slip inside of her, when she whispers something most unexpected in his ear.

“Can you tie me up?” She asks softly.

He pulls back a little, frowning at her in shock. “What?”

“Tie me up. You know, the restraints in the box under the -”

“Yeah. I heard you.” 

That wasn’t the problem. He understands her. He knows where the restraints are. He’s just shocked. They haven’t played around like that in bed for  _ years _ . And why the hell would she choose today to try it once more?

“Please. I trust you. I want to show you that.” She swallows. “And - I want to make it good. For us to do something special together.”

“You trust me? After - after all this?”

“Yeah. If you were going to kill me you’d have done it already.”

He laughs, hollow, rather out of his depth. He shakes his head a little, unsure how to proceed.

With honesty. That’s one of the things they talked about at marriage counselling - and hopefully something they can do a lot better at, now that they know each other’s biggest secret.

“I’m sorry. I’m not really comfortable doing that right now.” He admits, swallowing, trying to read her face as she lies there looking up at him. “Or maybe just something... light? I can just tie your hands together? I do want this to be special.”

“That sounds perfect.” She agrees, flushing prettily up at him.

He gulps. She’s stunning. She always has been, but it hits different now he knows she’s deadly as well as beautiful. Now he knows that she wants to be soft and vulnerable before him while her day job involves shooting strangers in cold blood.

He reaches for that box under the bed, flustered. It’s all dusty. They really haven’t had playtime together in a long while. He opens the lid, finds a simple silk tie inside.

“This OK for now?” He checks.

She nods, stretches her hands out above her head in clear invitation. He gets to work, tying her wrists together, pressing soft kisses to her skin all the while. He has a feeling he used to be firmer with her, when they were more into experimenting with bondage together. He used to be stricter, harsher, more dominating. He thought his muscles were supposed to do the talking, didn’t he?

But today he wants to be softer. He wants to show her that she has his heart, too, despite everything.

When her wrists are tied he moves over her once more. He holds her hands firmly with one of his own, stretching them out over her head. He tells himself that’s to ensure she doesn’t move while she’s got nothing tying her down to the bed, but he has to admit there might be more than that going on here. He really does want to hold her hands.

Then he eases his cock inside her, starts moving slowly. She looks half-gone already, he notes smugly. Maybe he didn’t need to pay for that damn marriage counsellor. Maybe he should just have opened up the toybox a long time ago.

He has to admit, he’s pretty turned on, too. Not just by the action of fucking her but by the whole atmosphere. There’s a sense of hope in the air that he rather likes. And Clarke is looking at him like he’s too good to be true, like she can’t believe he’s real. Like she wanted nothing more than for him to come back from the dead and claim her for his bed. Or perhaps something closer to the truth - like she wanted him to evade her trap, like she is turned on by the thrill of the chase.

She’s whining quietly, now, trying to buck her hips up to meet him.

“Easy.” He murmurs to her, firm but kind. “Lie still for me. You know the drill.”

“Maybe I’ve forgotten. It’s been a while.” She taunts him.

He goes still, mid-thrust. “Cheeky. If you carry on like that…”

“Sorry, Bellamy. I can be good, Bellamy.” She tells him, right on cue.

He grins, laughing a little, bends down to kiss her deeply. He starts moving again and Clarke is all the more excited for his teasing pause, he finds. She’s lying still like he told her to, but she’s making up for it with loud, throaty moans and frantic breaths.

He takes pity on her, whispers to her once more.

“You can come any time now.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to the shell of her ear as he goes.

He can’t quite believe he just kissed her there. Such a pointlessly affectionate gesture. That’s not going to get anyone off, is it? Even back in the early days of their marriage, they did not act like that. Clarke has simply never been that open in her affection for him.

That’s why it’s so incredible, so  _ wonderful _ , that she begged him to tie her down and make this special, today.

He’s going to need her to come soon. He’s not going to last much longer while she’s gazing up at him like that, as if he’s the best thing in her life. She’s puckering her lips for a kiss, too, but true to his instructions she’s being good and lying still, not reaching up to meet his mouth.

He reaches down, presses his lips to hers. That was just what she needed, it seems. She’s coming hard, writhing beneath him, all attempt at stillness abandoned. He follows close behind, collapses over her chest with a deep groan.

She gives a loud, contented sigh as they lie there. But he’s not ready for that, not yet. There’s something he feels a pressing need to tell her before the moment breaks.

“Clarke, I lo-”

He is interrupted by the sound of a grenade exploding in the kitchen beneath them.

He leaps off the top of her, his training kicking in. He throws on the nearest clothes he can find, shoves a pistol in his waist.

“We can go out the window. My car is out front. If we’re fast -”

He cuts himself off. Clarke is still tugging frantically at her restraints, unable to dress or arm herself while she’s tied up.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” He reaches for her at once, slices clean through her restraint with the knife that lives in his boot. They don’t have time for finesse, right now.

“I liked that tie.” She rebukes him as the tatters fall at her feet.

“I’ll buy you a hundred more if we get out of here alive. Now let’s go.”

She nods, all business, the teasing mood fleeing. In less than twenty seconds they are both more or less dressed, and armed to the teeth. Within thirty they are both out the window and sprinting for the car, keeping low, while their surprise guests bombard the kitchen and living room.

They nearly make it. They’re right outside the car when a lone gunman spots Clarke and starts shooting straight at her.

Bellamy doesn’t think twice. He dives in front of the bullet. Isn’t that what any good husband would do?

…….

Clarke is exasperated with Bellamy, and she doesn’t mind admitting it. What does he think he’s doing, taking a bullet in the arm at a time like this? He needs that arm to drive their getaway car, the silly man. It most probably wouldn’t have killed her - and if it did, that would have been  _ her _ problem, not his.

Stupid fucking marriage.  _ What’s mine is yours _ , and all that shit. They’re not talking about  _ bullets _ when they make you say that vow, she’s pretty sure.

He gets in the driver’s seat all the same, bleeding as he goes. Clarke leaps in the passenger side, rips off her shirt and starts pressing it to the wound.

“You sure are set on getting naked for me today.” He teases as he starts accelerating down the street.

“Not the time.” She tells him firmly. “ _ Really _ not the time. What were you thinking? We’re going to need you on form to drive out of this mess.”

“Was that a compliment, Princess?”

She snorts out a grudging laugh. “Your driving’s way better than mine. It was in your file - apparently that’s one of your specialities?”

“And apparently you’re an expert sniper.” He tosses back at her.

She shrugs. She’s pretty good. But right now, there’s another skill she needs to focus on. “First aid kit?”

“Secret compartment under the glove compartment.” He answers.

She finds it, unpacks it over her lap. It’s not bad. She has enough to work with, here. She’ll be able to get this done.

“Buckle up.” She tells him dispassionately. “Fixing a bullet wound on the driver is always a fun one.”

“You say that like you’ve done it before.”

“Yeah. I have. Used to be an army medic back in the day. Then I guess I got…  _ talent spotted _ .”

He turns to look at her, stunned. “I had no idea. That’s pretty cool, Clarke. Is it weird that I’m happy to learn all these new things about you?”

She smiles shyly. “Yeah. Little bit. Maybe we can save that for after I’ve stitched you up?”

Stitching him up is pretty hellish. He’s bleeding a lot, trying to concentrate on his evasive driving all the while. She wonders whether she ought to be shooting out the windows, but she figures there’s no point wasting time on that if Bellamy would bleed to death as a consequence.

It’s hellish, too, because it gives her time to think about what’s happening. She’s spontaneously fleeing from her highly dangerous employer and a rival network of agents. That’s  _ horrifying _ . Not just because of the firepower on the road behind them, but because it represents such a departure from her normal approach. All her life she’s thought things through, adopted sensible and well-considered strategies. Yet this is  _ anything _ but sensible. It is the  _ opposite _ of well-considered.

Falling in love with Bellamy is the only thing she’s ever done as an agent that wasn’t part of a plan. The plan was to marry him, not  _ love _ him. And now here she is doing this out of love for him.

It’s terrifying.

He’s lost their tail by the time she finishes stitching him up. She’s impressed. She always knew her husband was a pretty amazing man, but she has new levels of respect for his bravery and skill, today.

He seems even more impressed, though. He slants a smirk at her, when she’s done wrapping his wound.

“Thanks, Princess. That hurt, for the record.”

“Then don’t step in front of the damn bullet next time.” She snaps, but she’s smiling, too. Bellamy has always made her smile.

He nods, grins weakly. And then he’s turning to look at her, sadness in the lines about his eyes.

“I know we need to find somewhere safe and figure out what happens next. But I want to drive a little longer to be sure we’ve lost them. Could we - can we talk about what it’s like?” He asks, soft and vulnerable. “I’d love to be able to talk with you about - about  _ work _ . To have someone to share it with. You know - the fear when it goes wrong and the sick pride when it goes right.”

“The sick pride until you realise you killed a person. Someone with friends and family who’ll never get to see them smile again.”

“Exactly. You get it.” He says simply.

She nods. She swallows. She wonders where to start.

“How many?” She asks him simply.

She doesn’t need to explain what she means. He knows. She can see it in the tense jaw, the big eyes.

“One hundred and two.” He says quietly. “You?”

She gulps. She knew he’d have the smaller number. She was sure of it - she’s read his file. But this? This hurts.

“Three hundred and forty-seven.” She mutters, eyes fixed on her hands.

He looks at her, sharp, even as he keeps driving straight and true.

“How d’you manage that?” He asks. There’s no rebuke, but rather something that balances awkwardly between sympathy and awe.

“Some of them were two at a time.” She says mildly.

The ones that were two at a time, she can mostly cope with. It’s the ones that were ten at a time that haunt her.

…….

Bellamy has never enjoyed a drive so much in his life.

Of course, that sentiment feels all wrong on so many levels he doesn’t even know where to start. He’s fleeing for his life. He’s got a sizable wound in his arm - but well patched up, thanks to Clarke. He’s in the middle of trouble with no clue what happens next.

But honestly? He’s having a great time. There’s something wonderful about sharing experiences and guilt and heartfelt conversation with Clarke. He supposes this is what a real marriage is supposed to feel like, probably. And once they’ve got a few things off their chests they relax back to simply chatting. They’ve not sat and talked like this for years - if  _ ever _ .

He knows, though, that this cannot last forever. If he’s to have moments like this in the future with Clarke, they have pressing trouble to deal with in the present.

“What next?” He asks, not necessarily expecting her to have all the answers, but knowing the conversation needs to be started. “We’ll need firepower. I’ve got a weapons cache a little to the south of here.”

“We’re going to need more than firepower. We’re going to need a plan.”

“Got any bright ideas, Princess?” He just can’t seem to stop calling her that, at the moment. Silly of him. He blames that silk tie and the venture into the toybox earlier - or perhaps he blames the sweet expression she had on her face all the while they were playing.

“I think we should start with the target they sent us both after.”

“The target we missed.” Bellamy says ruefully.

“The target  _ you made me _ miss.” She counters with spirit.

He turns to her, smirking, even as he keeps driving. “Keep telling yourself that.”

She laughs, pats affectionately at his thigh. Yes - this is most definitely the best drive of his life.

……..

Clarke knows they are not spending the night in this crappy motel to have sex.

They’re here so that their designated driver can snatch some sleep, and so that they can explore the area for news of their runaway target. Those are important goals, crucial to the success of their improvised mission.

But the moment they get the door closed behind them she starts kissing Bellamy all the same. That’s understandable, she hopes.  _ Forgivable _ , maybe. She’s allowing herself to embrace love at long last so naturally she wants to be holding him close, every second she can.

She’s disappointed when Bellamy pulls back from the kiss, even though he’s still smiling down at her.

“Give me a minute.” He says.

She nods, tries hard for patience and calm. Maybe he doesn’t want her quite as badly as she wants him. That’s fine. She can cope with that, adjust to it, even. She doesn’t look the same as she did when they first married. She understands that.

Bellamy, meanwhile, is searching through the bag he took from his cache. There are a couple of guns in there, a few spare clothes.

But when he stands up again, he’s holding a length of rope.

“This OK?” He asks softly, swooping back in for another kiss. “I’m worried it might be a bit rough against your wrists.”

She is silent for a moment, stunned, processing. This is why he pulled away from the kiss? Because he remembers what she asked for back in their bedroom? Because he wants to offer her that, even here and now while they’re on the run?

“It’s perfect.” She says at once, sticking her hands out towards him.

He laughs a little, kisses her once more. “Not so fast, Princess. Going to get you undressed first.”

She pouts. “You too?”

“You trying to tell me what to do?” He teases.

“I just like looking at you.” She admits, eyes sliding away to rest on the floor. This is humiliating, isn’t it? She’s behaving like some lovestruck teenager.

Bellamy doesn’t care, it seems. He doesn’t mind that her behaviour is needy, that she’s trying to call the shots even as he’s the one holding the rope. He brings a hand up to cup her cheek, tilts her face back towards him.

“You mean that? You’ve missed seeing my body?” He asks, something in his eyes that looks a lot like hope.

She simply nods.

He grins. “I like looking at you, too.” He tells her, chuckling slightly. And then his shirt is being tugged over his head like he can’t get it off fast enough.

“Your arm -”

“Is fine.” He tells her, quelling. “You’re acting like I’ve never been shot in the arm before. I got this, Princess. Let me get you ready.”

She almost laughs at that. She’s been  _ ready _ for hours, she could swear. And she’s certainly feeling more and more  _ ready _ every time he calls her Princess. It’s a silly pet name he came up with in the very early days of their relationship - a teasing insult from before it even  _ was _ a relationship, in fact. But he hasn’t used it in  _ months _ , now - or at least he hadn’t before all this drama kicked off.

Bellamy is as good as his word, though. He undresses her tenderly, ditches the rest of his own clothes along the way. He leads her to the bed, binds her wrists carefully with the rope, ties the free end to the head of the bed.

“This OK?” He checks as he works.

“You could have tied them tighter.” She says, a little petulant.

“No I couldn’t. Don’t want to hurt my beautiful wife with that rough rope.” He tells her softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She hums, relaxes under his touch. She likes it tight and a little rough, for what it’s worth. But even more she likes the way he’s making a fuss of her, in this moment, so she lets it go.

He starts simple, but effective. He goes to the foot of the bed and gets his mouth on her.

And then he simply doesn’t leave for a very long time.

She can remember other occasions like this, just a couple of long afternoons from the very earliest days of their marriage. He’d get her at his mercy then see how many orgasms he could coax out of her in one sitting. It was always a game she enjoyed - but one he simply  _ adored _ , she remembers even now.

This is even better, somehow, she decides. She’s somewhere between number two and number three, legs trembling, eyelids fluttering. Tied up and helpless like this, there is absolutely nothing for her to do but relax and enjoy the ride. That’s what she has always liked about this - it’s a chance to simply let go, compared with her rather stressful career.

The rope is rough around her wrists. She remembers Bellamy was worried about that. But she relishes it, the little hints of discomfort sharpening her pleasure. Giving her another contact point to focus on besides Bellamy’s lips and tongue and hands.

Another orgasm builds, almost without her permission. She likes that. She likes choosing to surrender and have Bellamy take charge.

“That’s it, Princess.” Bellamy pulls back, uses his fingers alone for a moment while he speaks to her. “You’re doing so well. My brave Princess.”

She gasps, gulps, bucks up to meet him. She wants to come. She wants to come  _ so bad _ . Hearing him call her  _ his _ is doing funny things to her heart as well as cranking up the heat. But she needs just a little more, just a last hint of pressure on -

She’s there. She’s moaning, loud and low, grinding hard into his face.

He helps her out. He slows, stills, gives her what she needs. And then, as he feels her orgasm die away, he starts work all over again.

No. She’s had enough - not because it isn’t incredible. It  _ is _ . But because there are two people in this marriage, thank you very much.

“I want your cock.” She announces, plain and simple.

Bellamy stills, looks up at her. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up already.” He teases.

“No. I just - want a change.” She lies brightly.

He frowns, eyes narrowed. “Is it not OK? I thought I was doing it how you like it.”

“You are. It’s perfect.” She sighs. She’s going to have to spell it out for him. “It’s more that - I want  _ us _ . Both of us together. I kind of need that after these last couple of days. Don’t you?”

He nods at once. Then he seems to realise what he’s done and tries shaking his head instead. “I just want to make you happy.” He tries, eyes averted.

“Bellamy. I  _ am _ happy.” She says. Ridiculous though it may be, it’s the truth. They’re on the run in a crappy motel and she’s the happiest she’s been in  _ years _ . “But I’d be even happier if I was making you feel good, too.”

He lets it go, then. He admits defeat - or rather, he admits that he wants something here, as well. He stops being so infuriatingly selfless.

He scoots up the bed, hovers over her. He’s putting weight on his injured arm as if the bullet wound was nothing to him, she notes. He’s a silly, brave man. When all this is through she thinks she’d quite like them to take early retirement. She could wrap him up in cotton wool for the rest of their lives.

No. He’s not that kind of guy, is he? And since when do assassins retire?

He gets himself in place, starts rocking his hips urgently. This feels even better, Clarke decides. The way Bellamy is touching her all over, his body pressing into every inch of her skin, yet she’s powerless to touch him in turn. She can feel her fingertips tingling with the need to get her hands on him, and she loves it. She relishes the helplessness, channels all that frustration into kissing him hard and heightening her pleasure.

“You feel so perfect.” He tells her softly. “You were driving me crazy when I was going down on you. Love the noises you make.”

She gasps. She doesn’t quite mean to, but it happens all the same. “Love the way you make me feel. So safe.” She tells him urgently.

He groans, kisses growing sloppier. She moans, hips bucking up off the bed. No - not close enough. She gets her legs right up round his waist, angles herself so that he can get even deeper inside.

He’s not groaning, any more. He’s simply  _ growling _ , breathing growing ragged, thrusts growing messy.

The surest sign he’s at breaking point? He hasn’t told her off for moving. He hasn’t demanded she put her legs back down, hasn’t reminded her he won’t be disobeyed.

He does quite the opposite, in fact. He gets up into a kneeling position, grabs hold of her thighs for a few last, firm thrusts of his hips. It’s almost more than she can take, has her arching off the bed towards him. She’s not even sure what she’s reaching for, any more - only that she needs more of him, closer, all at once.

She cries out when she comes. Not his name - not anything coherent at all. Just a long, breathy cry that probably sounds like a wounded animal, she realises afterwards.

He’s there too, fingernails digging into her thighs as he shudders and goes still. She likes that, likes his sharp grip. She wishes he’d dare to be a little rougher with her a little more often.

Silence falls. Bellamy is staring down at her, looking almost  _ awestruck _ , she thinks.  To be fair, she suspects she looks much the same, in this moment.

“That was so good.” She tells him at once. It’s not a sophisticated description, but it’s accurate.

“Yeah? I always knew you were only with me for the sex.” He teases, pulling out and sitting back on his heels.

She bristles. “That’s a load of crap.” She tells him, firm and a little annoyed. “You’re great in bed, but there’s a hell of a lot more to you than that.”

He swallows, looks away. She sighs. She thinks she gets it now. That wasn’t really a joke - that was his deepest insecurity, poorly disguised as a joke. She hopes he’s better at deception than that when he’s out on a job. To be fair, most jobs are probably less important to him than this. They probably don’t get him so worked up or emotional.

She reaches out for his hand, squeezes it tight. He tightens his grip securely on her fingers in turn.

Then he takes a deep breath and has a go at speaking. “I always worried it was like that. You never got to see any of my talents, never got to see me being brave or loyal or whatever while I was pretending to work in publishing.”

“It shines through anyway.” She assures him, her eyes a little damp. “Just look at the way you’ve been fighting for our marriage, setting up those counselling sessions rather than giving up on us. But I guess - it does look a little different now you took a bullet for me.”

He snorts. He grips her hand ever tighter, crushing her fingers slightly. She can cope with that, though. She’s faced worse.

She takes a deep breath and tries to repay his vulnerability in kind. “It’s the other way round for me. I’m more worried that you won’t love me now you know what I really am and the kinds of things I’ve done. The kill count. Now you know I’m not just some rich blonde art auctioneer.”

He shakes his head at once. “No. I think it makes it  _ easier  _ to love you, actually. It helps me understand why sometimes you can be difficult to get through to. I hope it’ll stop me getting frustrated with you so often.”

“You’re talking like you think we have a future.” She says, cautiously optimistic.

“We do. It’s like you said - I want to fight for this marriage. I’m not giving up now we’ve only just remembered how good we are together.”

She nods, allows herself to smile slightly. “Same here. I really love you, you know that?” It’s the first time she’s said it in months, and it feels so good to get the words out. It feels good to say it first for a change, when Bellamy is usually the more open about his emotions. She thinks he deserves this affirmation and more.

“I love you  _ so much _ . No matter what you are. I care more about  _ who _ you are - you’re my wife.”

She smiles at him, sits up towards him for a slightly messy kiss. And then she’s going, moving, dressing and getting ready to leave the room.

They have a bad guy to catch, and a marriage to defend.

…….

Bellamy used to use torture a lot, in the early days of his career. He’s lost his taste for it in recent years, though. Since he met Clarke, maybe. Since he started having a vested interest in acting like a functional and compassionate human being - even though he does kill people for a living.

So it is that he’s not really sure what he’s doing, in this moment. They captured their guy. They’ve got him tied to a chair - with that rope he and Clarke were playing with earlier, as it happens. He really does need to get her some new restraints as a gift. No way is he going to be able to use this rope again after this.

Right. Yes. Mind in the game.

So he’s punched the guy a few times, pointed a knife at his face, but got nowhere. His lips have stayed tight shut.

At last Clarke rolls her eyes at him, fondly exasperated, and shoves him aside.

“If he knows you’re not really going to do it, there’s no point threatening it.” She whispers to him.

“He doesn’t know I won’t do it.” He protests.

“Bellamy. Babe. Anyone could see that you don’t really  _ want _ to cut his eye out. You’re going soft in your old age.” She says - but she doesn’t say it as an insult. She says it as if she wants nothing more than to softly grow old with him.

He’d really love that, he decides.

He lets her take over. She doesn’t point a knife, or use her fists, or any such thing. Rather she crouches down, her eyes on a level with the captive.

“I’m hoping we can help each other out here.” She says mildly. “You’ve found yourself caught in the middle of something that’s not your fight. We know how that feels - it’s what we’re going through right now. We’re not here to hurt  _ you _ . We just want to know who hired you so we can deal with the real bad guys here. We’ll get them off your back so you can sleep at night.”

That works.  _ Of course _ it works. Clarke, who was so worried when they talked last night that he wouldn’t be able to see her heart and human warmth now he knows she’s an assassin. Yet here she is, proving that she understands human emotions better than anyone he’s ever met. Sometimes, he thinks, she really does seem to have a problem with the way she sees herself. She’s  _ remarkable _ , but she seems set on thinking the worst of herself.

“I was hired by two men.” The captive says quietly. “They paid half each. A Mr Jaha and a Mr Kane. They told me they had a problem - you two. Their….  _ Firms _ have been at odds for years. They like it that way. It suits them. They didn’t want you two getting more honest with each other and upsetting that balance.”

Bellamy nods. He’s not surprised. The status quo suits their bosses. Having rival networks of assassins linked by bonds of love and friendship and family does not. The news of their marriage counselling must have been the worst news Kane and Jaha had received all year.

Clarke looks a little taken aback, though. She’s blinking furiously.

Bellamy steps up, curls a hand around her shoulder in what he hopes is a supportive gesture.

“You doing alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fine. It’s just - Kane is actually my stepfather. I didn’t expect this.”

Bellamy snorts. “Your stepfather. Of course he is. Your boss’s big rival is your stepfather. If you’d invited him to the wedding we could have skipped a lot of this trouble.”

Clarke laughs, her good humour restored, more or less. Her humour as good as humour can ever be in the midst of a mission.

“We’re going to need a better plan for this one. We can’t just shoot and hope.” She murmurs.

“We could blow some shit up.” Bellamy offers, only half joking.

She frowns at him - or at least, she tries to. She’s grinning a little bit, too.

“I think I’ve got something. Let’s get this guy out of here and figure it out.”

  
  


…….

Clarke is pleased with the plan. It’s a good one, she thinks, and it’s also a perfect example of teamwork. It ties together her and Bellamy’s skills perfectly. It’s like they’re not just a married couple, but a  _ partnership _ .

They’ve exchanged plans for each other’s headquarters, set up simple earpieces. They are going to break in, take each other’s bosses captive, and negotiate a deal. Simple. A show of strength, a demonstration to Kane and Jaha that there is much to gain by allowing Bellamy and Clarke to keep working together.

That is, as long as they pull this off.

She’s crawling along a ventilation shaft, now. A couple of miles away, on the other side of town, Bellamy is doing much the same thing - but in her usual office.

“You doing alright?” He asks her.

She smiles to herself a little. She’s not due to check in for another eight minutes. Apparently her husband misses her, or something.

“Fine. You?” She whispers back.

“Yeah. My arm hurts.” He complains - more for something to say, she thinks, than for any other reason.

“That’s what you get for taking a bullet for me. I’ll kiss it better when we’re done here.” She promises easily.

He laughs a quiet, breathy laugh.

“I’m nearly there.” She tells him - half regretful, because she was enjoying chatting to him, half excited at the prospect of finishing this.

They say their goodbyes, get back on task. It’s almost too easy, in the end. Clarke simply drops from the ventilation shaft and has a gun pressed to Kane’s temple before he can so much as blink.

She’d expect better security from the head of a bunch of assassins for hire, honestly.

“It’s been too long since you came over for dinner, Marcus.” She says, deciding to torment him a little.

He stiffens. “Clarke?”

“Your  _ dearest stepdaughter _ .” She agrees. “Shame about the attempted murder, though.”

“Clarke, I can -”

“Leave it. Call Jaha, now. I think you’ll find he has something interesting to say. Some interesting company, too.”

Kane does as she asks without missing a beat. He doesn’t seem to be putting up any fight at all, really. He looks  _ old _ , Clarke notes. Old and tired and sad. Maybe her mother’s death hit both of them hard.

Maybe assassins should retire, after all.

He calls up Jaha on a big screen before him. Sure enough, Bellamy is there, gun pressed to Jaha’s head in turn, and he gives Clarke a little wave.

She waves back, relieved. She was pretty confident she’d told him everything he needed to know to get safely into Jaha’s headquarters, but it’s good to see him safe and well all the same.

Then she launches into her prepared words.

“We have a proposal for you. Let us live. Let us keep living  _ together _ as a married couple and we’ll work together, too. You’ve seen what we can do here on just a couple of hours’ preparation. We’ve both broken in here and taken you guys hostage without breaking a sweat. Imagine what we could do if we join forces with your backing. And our marriage remains the perfect cover. We can go anywhere as an innocent couple on a romantic holiday and no one will suspect what we’re really doing. We make the perfect team - don’t you want to see how your businesses will flourish if you give us work to do together?”

Kane’s already nodding. Clarke really gets the feeling he’s losing his touch, actually - or perhaps that he cares about her more than she realised. She remembers sending Bellamy crashing down that elevator shaft even while she was struggling with her feelings for him. It’s a messy business, the wet work trade. Maybe Kane was in a similar situation - perhaps hoping that if someone else killed his stepdaughter for him, it wouldn’t hurt the same?

Jaha looks more sceptical, though.

“Clarke? Why are you doing this?” He asks over the video link.

To her surprise, Bellamy answers before she can even open her mouth.

“Because what she said is true. We’re good together - at work as well as at home. Because we love each other and don’t want to lose each over your petty feud, and because if we work together instead everyone wins.”

Clarke has nothing more to add. She simply nods, stares her boss down as best she can.

At length, he gives way. He nods, head falling towards his chest in defeat. Excellent. Time to figure out the details and get this in writing. She’s not sure how much water a contract written by these two will hold, but it has to be better than nothing. Apart from anything else, Bellamy and Clarke have given them a fright today, so hopefully they will think twice before causing trouble.

When all is complete, Clarke turns to go. She’s planning to crawl back out the way she came. She finds that she doesn’t much fancy humiliating her estranged stepfather by walking through the middle of his office in broad daylight and flaunting her successful ploy in his face.

But Kane stops her with a simple plea.

“Clarke, wait.”

She does. She looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to say - I hope you know what you’re doing. It’ll be difficult. You don’t want him putting himself in danger to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.” She says sharply, because frankly she’s annoyed with Kane.

Inside, she’s thinking something rather more complicated. She’s thinking that they will do their best to protect  _ each other _ . She’s thinking that, yes, it might be risky - but she’s learnt that love is worth taking risks for.

This way she keeps Bellamy. As far as she’s concerned, that makes it the only choice.

…….

Bellamy thinks that their next marriage counselling session is rather more successful. With everything that’s happened they never did get round to discussing where they see their marriage in five years time. But Clarke has a very long list to answer the question _ things she loves about Bellamy _ , and he feels safe letting loose and sharing everything in return.

Not quite  _ everything _ , he supposes. He doesn’t say that he loves the fact she keeps him confident and centred when he’s fleeing a bunch of assassins who are trying to kill them. But he does say that she’s his  _ rock _ , which he thinks is a cheesy shorthand for much the same thing.

He makes a suggestion as they leave the room. He was the one who first suggested their marriage needed help, after all. And he thinks he might have an idea for how to show her that she’s so much more than just a rich blonde art auctioneer to him. More than a star sniper or plotter, too. To show her that she’s allowed love and marriage and personal identity, that she’s not just a brain on the end of a gun - and that she makes him feel more than that, in turn.

“Do you ever wonder if Mr and Mrs Griffin-Blake sounds better than just Mr and Mrs Blake?” He asks, tone carefully level.

“It’s a bit of a mouthful.” She offers, cautious.

“Think about it, Princess. We agreed this marriage is more than just a cover. That we want it to be about  _ us  _ too. And if we’d got married out of love to start with there’s no way you’d have given up your name without a fight.” He explains. He’s been considering this for a couple of days, now, and it feels good to get the words out into the air at last.

“I already loved you then, more than I thought I should.” She muses.

“Clarke, you’re not answering the question.”

She sighs. “You’re right. I’d have kept my name if I wasn’t worried about being a good quiet blonde for cover. But I’ve been Mrs Blake so long now, I really don’t mind. It doesn’t matter to me that much anymore.”

“It matters to me. Maybe it would feel like starting over.” He dares to suggest.

She looks at him. Just that. She just  _ looks _ , wearing that considering half-frown he loves so much. Behind her eyes he knows her mind is working a mile a minute.

At last, she speaks.

“You know, there are different ways to express identity. There are different ways to be strong or proud or feminist. And there are loads of different ways we could start over - maybe renew our vows or something. We don’t  _ need _ to change our names.” She concludes firmly. “But if you’re up for it, I’d like to.”

“New names  _ and _ renew our vows?” He dares to suggest, reaching out to take her hand.

“Yeah. Sure. This time round, can we invite Kane?”

He nods easily. He thinks that sounds like a great idea, actually. Clarke’s very good at coming up with great ideas, as a general rule.

But he thinks he has come up with the best idea of all, lately. He seems to remember he was the one who first suggested they ought to work on their marriage.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
